


we often tell half-truths

by kontj (kaguol)



Series: hydrangeas [18]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Drinking, Drunken Confessions, F/M, Fluff, House Party, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:49:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28287990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaguol/pseuds/kontj
Summary: tsukishima’s not a good liar. he’s just a good sifter of what part of the truth to say.
Relationships: Tsukishima Kei/Reader
Series: hydrangeas [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2031949
Kudos: 29





	we often tell half-truths

The door clicks shut, Tsukishima finally resurfacing to give his lungs a break.

For a moment, he feels sorry for all the young adult protagonists he’s mocked. It’s just breathing, he remembers saying, near-throwing the book to the wall after reading the very same line over and over again. But tonight, he is taught the wonders of the human body.

That sometimes, our lungs close up at the threat of a lie, and you only realize you’re holding in a breath when you finally tell the truth.

In the solitude of the room he’s in, Tsukishima allows himself one truth.

He hates going to parties.

Had it not been for Yamaguchi’s insistence, he’d still be in his room, foul-mouthing the next eighteen year old on a quest to save the world from doom. At least then, he could distract himself from the quiet by the chaos in a fictional world.

In the presence of others, Tsukishima felt like he couldn’t hide. He was exposed and vulnerable, the next victim to fall prey to someone else’s cruel game.

So he boarded up, putting on armor and schooling his face into indifference. He opened his mouth only to retort and racked up enough points that people nod in his direction and leave him be.

In the event that some fall victim to his facade, his muscles tense, viper poised to strike. His venom cuts deep, the recipient unknowing. It is only later that they realise they have been struck.

By then, the blond has escaped, to the confines of the nearest closed space, waiting it out until the familiar tuft of green hair waddles up to him, or the tell tale ding of his phone indicates that he’s found someone else’s arms for the night.

A sinner on confession, he tells all this to the empty room, the beer in his cup spilling ever so slightly.

He puts it down, shamelessly flopping onto the bed.

“You okay there, bud?”

The door clicks open, bass filling the room before the lock shuts once more.

This time, his head is underwater.

Sitting up, his head spins, yet he musters up a grin. “Yeah, just taking a break.” The spots in his eyes obstruct him from seeing the stranger, but their voice is familiar. It comes with an echo of a smile, and when his sight clears, he sees the horizon.

Blue light filters onto the floor, a gust of cold wind hitting his shins before it disappears. You hand him a bottle of water, the seal still on. He realizes that that was a fridge.

“You sure you can take things from here?”

The bed creaks as you flop onto the empty space next to him. “I don’t see why not.” You don’t tell him it’s your room. He’s a little too drunk to care.

He laughs, bitter and empty, finishing it all in one drink. Lying back down, he feels his body dangerously close to yours. The blond remembers that one lecture in physics, that objects always have an attractive force between each other.

He wonders if that force is responsible for his urge to roll over and kiss you.

“What are you thinking about?”

Your voice is a whisper, yet it stills the storm in his ears. The clouds part, and he sees nothing but open sky. Tsukishima thinks of the color purple.

“Nothing.”

He decides that half-truths are easier. It would be difficult to explain how the grapes on your shirt reminds him of home.

“Liar.”

The pot calls the kettle, and the two fall trap into their own game. Minutes tick by, the distant hum of the buzzing crowd nothing to the beat of Tsukishima’s heart. He gathers shells in his hands, hoping they are enough.

“I think… I’m afraid.”

Your laugh is wrong, he thinks. His heart recognizes the lie. “Aren’t we all?”

He turns his head, daring to meet your eyes. The fog clears, and you see the crack in his facade. You wonder if he sees yours too.

“Drowning.”

The room swallows your confession, two sinners atoning for their lives. With a whisper, you call his bluff, hand outstretched to the head refusing to resurface.

“What are you afraid of, Tsukishima Kei?”

His answer is convoluted. He thinks of one, and a million more. Yet under the canopy of faint stars, with the wind nipping at his feet and on the plush of a stranger’s duvet, the answer comes clear as day.

“You.”


End file.
